


French Toast

by WeekendWriter



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Birthday Fluff, Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Domestic Fluff, I just really love these boys and I need them to be okay, Raleigh Becket is a puppy, Yancy Becket Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8503453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeekendWriter/pseuds/WeekendWriter
Summary: The day Raleigh figured how much of a morning person Yancy wasn’t was permanently ingrained in his mind. It involved powdered sugar, maple syrup, and just a bit of brotherly love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's still technically Yancy's birthday I wanted to write a quick piece with the boys. I love Raleigh and Yancy's dynamic and we definitely didn't get enough of it during the movie. So have some birthday fluff.

The day Raleigh figured how much of a morning person Yancy wasn’t was permanently ingrained in his mind.

 

 

It was one of the first truly cold mornings in early November; Yancy’s birthday, to be exact. Raleigh had been so excited to give Yancy his gift since this year it was completely from him. Their parents always helped him get his older brother something since he wasn’t old enough to buy something on his own. He didn’t have enough adult money saved up yet. So when their mother told him that making Yancy something from the heart would be best he spent countless days learning his mother’s French Toast recipe while Yancy was away at school.

When the day finally arrived, Raleigh eagerly but quietly snuck down from the top of their bunked beds and padded to the kitchen. Maman had promised not to hover; Raleigh had heard her and their father leave moments before he had gotten out of bed. So, face scrunched in determination, he had stumbled through the recipe as best he could. The eggs were messy and he couldn’t quite reach the counter but any time the task frustrated him, he thought of Yancy smiling proudly at him and he moved forward with quiet resolve. Some pieces were far too done to his dismay, but by the end of the morning he had several perfectly golden-brown pieces of French Toast. Once they were feather-dusted with powdered sugar the way Maman had showed him, they were presentable enough. He hoped they tasted just as good; anything less than perfect wasn’t good enough for Yancy.

It was still pretty early. Raleigh was so excited he was practically vibrating out of his skin but it was Yancy’s birthday and he didn’t want to ruin his special day. So he sat patiently at the kitchen table with his present placed carefully at the space across from him. And he sat. And he sat. He tried to be patient but the longer he waited, the more he squirmed in his seat. He’d wanted everything to be perfect so badly.

By now, the steam had stopped rising from the pieces and the powdered sugar had settled further into the creases of the cut bread. 

Raleigh tip-toed back to their room and peeked in. The thick blanket Maman had brought out for the colder weather, which was tucked just under a mop of visible blonde hair, rose and fell gently. 

Yancy was still asleep. 

His gift was getting cold.

“Yancy.”

There was no response.

“Yancy!” Raleigh hissed. 

Still nothing.

The toast was getting soggy.

He edged closer to the bed. Yancy’s snuffling snores rose from the blanket. “Yance!” He gently poked the mass of fabric. “Yance, come on…”

Ten minutes of this yielded no result. With a sigh, Raleigh dragged his feet back to the other side of the bunk and hauled himself up to his own bed where he preceded to slump under his own comfy blanket.

It was another few hours before the covers below him finally stirred. His brother’s movements were slow and Yancy was only in the kitchen for a few moments before the thudding of footsteps brought him back.

“Rals.”

Raleigh didn’t respond. He’d failed. He hadn’t wanted Yancy to see what a mess his gift had become but telling him about it would have meant he admitted to the failure. He flushed with embarrassment and folded himself further into the blanket’s warmth.

The bunk’s ladder rungs rattled. “Raleigh?” Yancy moved up the ladder and threw himself into the space between Raleigh and the wall. He lifted the covers. “Rals?”

He shifted uncomfortably, unable to avoid his older brother’s gaze. “Go ‘way, Yance…”

Yancy grinned and dug himself further into the space. “Not a chance. Come on, Rals, look at me.”

Raleigh paused for a second before meeting Yancy’s blue eyes. “What?”

“Did you make me that French Toast out there?”

With a vigorous shake of his head, Raleigh buried his face into the pillow. The muffled, “No!” that followed had Yancy shaking the mattress with quiet laughter. 

“Raleigh, I saw—”

“’s not good anymore.”

“You’re gonna have to lift your head if you want me to hear you, kiddo.” Yancy’s voice still vibrated with muted laughter. 

He tilted his head the other way and said, this time to the wall, “It woulda been good before. But now it’s not…”

The blankets rustled a bit as Yancy pressed closer. “Yes, it will be.”

“No. ‘s gonna be cold and mushy… You were ‘spose to get up sooner…”

“Hey.” Yancy rubbed his back in the soothing manner he reserved for when he knew Raleigh was upset. Raleigh leaned into the touch and allowed himself to finally turn to meet his older brother’s gaze. “I didn’t know. I woulda gotten up if I’d known, okay? You know I woulda.”

Raleigh glanced back down shyly. “That’s not how surprises work, Yance.”

“I’ll still eat them.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to.” The smile was warm and inviting and all Yancy. It was even more inviting than the blanket. “My favorite person in the world made them for me. They’re gonna be the best I’ve ever had. Maybe even better than Maman’s.”

Raleigh looked up in surprise. “No. No way.”

“Way.” Yancy lifted the blanket off of them and sat up. “Come on, Rals. It’s my birthday. And I wanna eat French Toast with my baby bro.”

The younger Becket frowned. “Not a baby, Yance.” But he sat up and followed his big brother down the ladder and into the kitchen. And even though he refused because they were Yancy’s and he couldn’t take his gift, he sat at the table with Yancy and shared a plate of French Toast that was drowned in just-too-much syrup. And because Yancy was not a morning person the toast was soggy and the bread was luke-warm, but Yancy’s laugh was loud and warm and infectious and Raleigh thought he’d burst under his brother’s proud gaze. 

 

 

Almost nine months to the day that Knifehead ripped almost half of Yancy out of Gipsy’s Conn pod Raleigh awoke in less of a panic than he did most days. It was because of the day, he figured. Nothing could go wrong on this day. Not if he had anything to say about it. His room was cold so he moved to the living room, rubbing bleary eyes, to turn the heat on. 

It was the first truly cold day. 

The bite of the cold still reminded him of the blasting Alaskan wind that had bitten into his face through the screen of Gipsy’s shattered Conn pod. Yancy had lost his right arm and his right leg to Knifehead’s grasp and Raleigh had been forced to push past the electrical surges burning their agony into skin to pilot Gipsy back to the shore himself. Raleigh hadn’t been able breathe against the harness. He had been in a panic when he felt the looping feedback of Yancy’s agony but grateful that it was at least that and not the gaping absence of Yancy from his mind. 

Yancy had lived despite having to be put into a medically induced coma for far too long. Since then, they had been placed on medical leave and moved into their own apartment to heal. Some days Raleigh still awoke with his brother’s name tearing itself from his throat. And others, when Raleigh’s lingering short term memory loss from the neural load made an appearance, Yancy blamed himself for Raleigh having to pilot solo. But they found a groove and settled into it. Raleigh helped Yancy with his prosthetics and both brothers helped each other to and through physical therapy. The glaring obviousness that they would never be what they were was always drowned out by the absolute gratitude that they were both still alive and kicking after the ordeal.

As he fiddled with the thermostat Raleigh chuckled to himself. It figured that today of all days would be the first cold one. It reminded him of the day that he’d been thinking of so often lately when he’d been pondering what to get Yancy for his first birthday since Knifehead. He wanted it to be memorable and the most memorable thing that came to mind was also the most simple.

He shuffled to the kitchen and stopped in shock.

It was far too early in the morning for the grumpy elder Becket to be up but Yancy was seated at the table with his prosthetic leg propped up on one chair. His hair was rumpled in all directions but his eyes were bright. “Morning, kiddo.”

Raleigh met his brother’s gaze, confusion reflected in his own. “Yancy, what are you doing up? How long have you been awake?” He could see the ingredients for French toast lined up and ready behind the ginger-blonde bedhead. “How—?”

Yancy smirked, all easy handsomeness and warmth. “Kid, I was in your head. It was the last thing I remember seeing that day.”

A pause and then Raleigh remembered what Yancy was talking about. It was still painful to relive the traumatic event but through the sounds of Yancy’s garbled screaming, Knifehead’s incessant roars, and Gipsy’s failing plasma cannons, he heard something else; the faint sound of Yancy’s laid-back laughter. He had smelled the sweet cinnamon scent of French Toast and had felt the warmth of the kitchen on a cold day. The last memory that ran through their shared mind before Gipsy’s gutted frame gave out and her knees crashed to the shore was of Yancy’s eigth birthday, of one of the happiest moments Raleigh could remember. 

“I knew you were gonna do something like that again today.” The scar running through one cheek, the one Raleigh had come to love that had been caused by the glass of his crushed helmet, rose as Yancy’s smirk widened. “So come on, kid. You making me my birthday breakfast or what?”

He couldn’t believe Yancy remembered that. Raleigh broke into a startled grin. “Yeah yeah, your highness. Coming right up.” He approached the counter but stopped long enough to ruffle his hand through his brother’s hair. The memory and thinking about how close he came to losing Yancy made him grateful enough that he had to press a kiss to Yancy’s forehead, even if the older Becket sputtered his embarrassment and shoved at him.


End file.
